


No Surprises

by AnotherNamelessGhoul



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherNamelessGhoul/pseuds/AnotherNamelessGhoul
Summary: Witchers aren't supposed to have emotions. Everyone says so. Geralt is just very tired.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 120





	No Surprises

He is so fucking tired. That's the only way he thinks of it. Just deep, bone tired that makes him want to lay in bed and never get up again. He's not been eating, not as much as he should, because he's never hungry anymore, and he's not been sleeping because when he lays down his brain twists round and round all of the thoughts he'd rather not have. It's not how witchers are supposed to be. They're not supposed to have emotions, as he's heard time and again from people with no business talking of witchers or what they do and do not have. Anyway. He is so fucking tired.

Jaskier knows. He brings him things to eat, nice things that he buys with his money earned from playing the taverns. A bowl of stew teeming with meat and spice and vegetables, a pretty frosted pastry, big hunks of meat and gravy. He hovers like a mother hen until Geralt eats them, and he does eat them, mostly because he feels too guilty not to and partly because Jaskier is trying so hard and he feels bad for worrying him. On the mornings that he does not rise with dawn, as always used to be their custom, Jaskier brings him tea and extra blankets and sits with him quietly until he does manage to pull himself back into the land of the living. It never used to be so hard to get up.

"You can talk to me, Geralt." Jaskier says, at least once a day, voice clouded over with worry. 

"Hmm." Because he can't. Not that Jaskier wouldn't listen, but that he doesn't have the words to describe how he's feeling. Like someone's gutted him out and strung everything up so that he's walking around all empty and hollow. Not so much that the weight of his years past are weighing on him but that the weight of the years to come are, pressing down on his chest and making it hard to breathe. Witchers live until something takes them out in the field. Sometimes he thought about that, setting his sword down and closing his eyes and-

And Jaskier wraps his whole body around him on the bed as if he's trying to use his whole being to keep Geralt from falling apart. He does that on the worst nights, like he's trying to use his body like a bandage for whatever is ailing him, sometimes combs through his hair and sings little nonsense lullabies. And if the great mighty white wolf let's his guard down, let's himself cry silently with his face pressed into Jaskier's chest, Jaskier whispers not a word of it. Witchers aren't supposed to have emotions. Geralt is just so, fucking, tired.

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters to come. Wrote this because I was feeling pretty crummy myself and so I'm making my current fave character an out. Not beta'd.


End file.
